Demontech: Rally Point: 2 (Demontech Book 2)

by David Sherman

  Then the two sea soldiers from the Easterlies were with Haft, and they formed an outward-facing triangle, able to fight in all directions without fear of an attack from the rear. Three more Jokapcul and two of their horses were killed before a lucky thrust got through and took down one of the Easterlies’ sea soldiers.

  Through it all, Jokapcul officers barked commands, commands echoed by their sergeants. Most of the Jokapcul continued their pursuit into the open, only those who couldn’t easily evade the men who resisted them stopped to fight. None of those Jokapcul lived.

  The battle in the trees was fierce, but brief. Spinner and the few horsemen with him reached Haft and the other men on foot seconds after the last Jokapcul disappeared into the trees to the north.

  “Gods, how many?” Spinner asked as he looked about at the bodies. Most were Jokapcul cavalry, but many—too many—wore the uniforms of Skragland, Zobra, Eikby, or no uniforms at all.

  “We can sort them out later,” Haft said. “Let’s go!” He began trotting north.

  “Form up in squads!” Spinner shouted. “Horse, stay with foot!”

  They passed scattered bodies on their way to the northern edge of the forest. All were Eikby Guards, nearly all killed from behind. None of the bodies was Jokapcul. They burst into the open and confronted even worse carnage.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  Fletcher tried to stop the flight of the Eikby Guards but they ignored him. In a futile attempt to outrun the Jokapcul, nearly all the guards had dropped their weapons. The farmers gleaning the battlefield didn’t know what the guards were running from, but most were infected by their panic and so they joined and ran too—the rest just stood where they were, wondering what was wrong. Fletcher stopped trying to halt the flight when the first Jokapcul charged into the open. He noted the different color of their armor and immediately knew they were a different unit from the one Eikby’s defenders had just defeated. There were hundreds of them, and they came in waves that extended beyond the width of the battlefield. He wasted no time or effort wondering where they came from, but drew his sword and resolved to take as many of them with him as he could before they killed him. Five Jokapcul closed ranks and came straight at the lone armed man who stood in their way.

  Xundoe gaped at the running guards and the charging Jokapcul. One passed close enough to spear him with his lance but didn’t even glance his way, making him blink in surprise before he realized the Lalla Mkouma had made him invisible. He suddenly understood he could fight with little danger to himself. Where he crouched, he was closer to the forest than Fletcher was. He saw five lancers close ranks. Without thinking, he reached into one of his packs and pulled out a phoenix egg. He twisted its top and threw it in front of the charging quintet. The egg burst open and the phoenix arose, unfolding its wings, and incinerated the Jokapcul, who were too close even to realize their danger. He groped in the pack for another egg as he looked around for another gathering of Jokapcul, but the horsemen weren’t stopping, they continued their charge toward the nearly unmanned defenses and the town beyond. Some of them flew from the saddle when their horses stepped on caltrops and fell. Xundoe stopped his search for another phoenix egg and drew his small demon spitter. He would make sure the thrown Jokapcul wouldn’t rejoin the battle.

  A short distance away a lancer speared a farmer as casually as a boy gigs a frog. The sight infuriated Xundoe. He aimed his small demon spitter, the demon spat, and the lancer toppled from his horse as brains and blood spilled from his cracked skull. He looked around, another Jokapcul was heeling his horse after killing a farmer. He aimed, thunder cracked, and a rose bloomed on that Jokapcul’s back. The horseman sagged, fell forward, and tumbled to the ground. Then all the Jokapcul except those who had been thrown were beyond the field, heading into the town. Fires began to blossom in the outlying houses. Xundoe ran about searching for downed but live Jokapcul.

  Fletcher was the only other man left standing on the battlefield, a dead Jokapcul lay at his feet and a riderless horse casually munched grass a few yards distant. Farmers dead and dying lay about the battlefield. Corpses of guards and farmers were scattered as far as the defensive trench; the mage couldn’t see what lay on the ground beyond that.

  The company’s fighters who had gone into the forest after the Eikby Guards came out from under the trees.

  Haft barely took in the carnage of the immediate scene, his attention focused on the Jokapcul horsemen speeding into the town. Without breaking stride, he raised his axe above his head and screamed, “After them!”

  From atop his horse, Spinner saw the Jokapcul killing and burning their way into the heart of Eikby more clearly than Haft did. “Hold!” he called out, and heeled his horse ahead of the footmen. Haft kept going and screaming for the others to follow him.

  Spinner reined in and turned in front of Haft, blocking him. “Stop!” he shouted.

  Haft skidded to a stop. “They’re getting away. We have to catch them before they burn down the whole town.” He stepped forward and reached out a hand to the gelding’s shoulder, to push the horse to face into Eikby. Spinner knocked his arm away with his quarterstaff.

  “Listen to you, you’re already out of breath. We can’t chase after them. They’re mounted and moving too fast. Everyone will be too tired to fight when we reach them.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” Spinner looked to the northwest. “We have to see to our own people first.”

  “But the town . . .”

  “We can do more for the town by getting organized first than by wildly chasing after the Jokapcul and getting killed because we’re too winded to fight when we reach them.”

  Haft yelped when he was suddenly lifted from his feet by Silent, who had come up behind and grabbed the back of his cloak.

  “Spinner’s right,” the giant said. “Chasing the Jokapcul is folly. We must get to our people first. Then we fight.”

  “Look around you,” Spinner snapped, “we’ve been too weakened to charge right into a fight.” The company had begun the fight with about a hundred and ten soldiers and other fighting men in the trenches. Of the nearly one hundred who survived the initial assault to follow the Eikby Guards into the forest, fewer than seventy had come out again. None of the four dozen Eikby Guards was present except among the dead that were sprawled across the battlefield.

  Haft stopped struggling in Silent’s grip when he saw how few of them there were. “You’re right,” he said reluctantly. Silent put him down. Haft glared over his shoulder at the giant but didn’t say anything.

  A few farmers who’d somehow survived the charge began to rise and look expectantly at the fighters.

  “Where’s Xundoe?” Fletcher suddenly asked. “He was going through the Jokapcul equipment looking for magic. Now he’s gone.”

  “Here I am!”

  “Where?” Startled, they looked around. The farmers began edging nervously away.

  “Right here!” the mage said. “Oh, the Lalla . . .”

  An instant later he appeared. No thunder, no lightning, he was simply standing right where his voice had come from. Four diminutive women figures sat on his shoulders, hugging his neck. Silent gasped, the other three stared. The farmers looked about wildly for a place to hide.

  Spinner was the first to regain his voice. “Where did you find them?” he blurted.

  Haft was less than half a beat behind. “What, do they always come in fours?” He and Spinner had taken four Lalla Mkouma from the slavemaster’s men-at-arms at The Burnt Man Inn.

  “The Jokapcul had them, I found them in their equipment,” Xundoe explained. “And other things. I found a—”

  “Never mind right now,” Spinner said hastily. “Gather everything you found; we have to get to our people.”

  “Right. I have all this.” He waved a hand at the three packs and the hodekin’s cage and shuffled over to them.

  “You!” Haft called to four farmers who were sidling away. “Help the mage with thos
e packs.”

  “Spinner, Haft,” Fletcher interjected, pointing toward the town. “Look.” A line of Jokapcul cavalry had turned away from the center of Eikby and were heading toward their lightly defended campsite.

  “Horsemen, let’s go!” Spinner ordered as soon as he saw them. He heeled his gelding and galloped in a circle around the outside of the fence. Three Zobrans who had fought on foot mounted three riderless horses that hadn’t wandered off and chased after the others.

  “Get these,” Haft shouted. He grabbed one of the demon spitters, three of the Blood Swords grabbed the others. “Let’s move!” he shouted and put his words to action. The fighters followed.

  The farmers Haft ordered to help with the magic items tried to take advantage of the distraction to run to the forest. Xundoe saw them and cried out, “Stop or die by magic!”

  One of them looked back and saw the mage pointing his small demon spitter in his direction.

  “Don’t kill me!” the farmer shrilled and dropped to his knees. The other three heard the cry and looked over their shoulders. They skidded to a stop and dropped to their knees in supplication.

  “Get back here and help me as Master Haft told you to.” The farmers reluctantly scrambled back. Three of them hefted the packs they were directed to but the fourth stared, ap-palled, at the hodekin cage.

  “Don’t drop the packs and don’t open them,” Xundoe said in what he hoped was a command voice. “And none of the magic will harm you.” He herded the farmers as fast as they would move toward the bivouac.

  In their haste to reach and defend the campsite, nobody noticed that Nightbird and the other healers who had conscripted the hidden, unarmed farmers and tradesmen for litter bearer duty to move the wounded to the camp hadn’t begun to move yet.

  Ninety Jokapcul cavalrymen, mixed swords and lances, cantered toward their target. All of the fencing had been laid out to defend against an attack from the forest, not the town. The bivouac was open to the town—open to the enemy. Corporal Maetog saw the Jokapcul coming and ordered everybody to the other side of the fence. They scrambled madly; children, women, the wounded. Maetog had but fifteen fighters, including himself—nine of his own Blood Swords and five Eikby Guards—not enough to hold for long against ninety Jokapcul. But having the fence between them would prevent the approaching horsemen from crashing through at speed. And the tents and wagons would break up their charge, stagger their line so they wouldn’t all reach the fence at the same time. Maetog saw horsemen rapidly coming around the fence from the south. The Jokapcul would arrive first, but the camp and the fence might delay them long enough for the help to arrive before the battle was lost.

  As soon as enough of the people had crossed the fence, the corporal commanded his Blood Swords and other Skraglanders to “Take bows!” Then said, “Shoot as soon as they’re within range.” All the Eikby Guards and three Blood Swords took up the bows and nocked arrows. Maetog ran about making sure all the people were safely across the fence, then told the few fighters he had what he wanted them to do when the attackers reached the fence and they could no longer stand there shooting arrows.

  A nervous Eikby Guard fired the first arrow when the Jokapcul were still cantering a hundred yards away. It missed, but may as well have been a signal, for at that instant the Jokapcul broke into a gallop. Then other arrows flew. They also missed, but the Jokapcul line lost its sharp dress as swordsmen and lancers dodged the missiles. The first of them tumbled from his horse when they were only fifty yards away. Four more fell before they reached the fence, one when an arrow hit his horse in the face. The first two horsemen who reached the fence tried to jump it but their horses tripped on the high wires and crashed to the ground beyond. One horse landed on its rider’s leg. It struggled to rise, but fell back, pinning the Jokapcul. A boy with a knife ran up and slit his throat, then put the horse out of its agony. A dismounted lancer made it through the fence and ran the boy through before a Blood Sword severed his head with a single blow. The other Blood Swords drew their blades and joined the three at the fence, chopping and stabbing at Jokapcul as they clambered through the strands of the fence. The other six backed off and continued aimed fire into the massed Jokapcul. But the Jokapcul fought fiercely, stabbing and slashing as they came through the fence.

  “Women!” Alyline screamed. “To the fence!” She brandished her gold handled dagger and sped to the defense. Other women and the older boys picked up knives and hammers and lengths of wood and followed.

  The Golden Girl raced toward a Jokacpul swordman who was hung up in the fence. He grunted as he yanked at the mesh of wires that had hooked onto his armor when he tried to force through without lifting them apart to make space. A wire broke and coiled with a spang, and barely missed his face as its pointed end whipped away. He bulled his shoulder against another wire and it gave. Barbs hung in his armor and tried to hold him. Another push and he was almost through. He never made it.

  A shriek to rival that of a banshee made the swordman jerk startled eyes up. He gaped at the woman bearing down on him, golden hair flowing behind, a short, patchwork vest didn’t quite cover her breasts, patchwork pantaloons rippled with the pumping of her legs, gold coins jangled and glittered on her girdle.

  He reacted blindly to the glint of her dagger by thrusting with his sword, but a wire barb snagged his arm and threw off his aim. Then she was on him, pulling the side flap of his helmet, exposing his throat, slashing it. He screamed at the wire of hot pain, then the scream became a gurgle. She let go of his helmet flap and he jerked backward. In vain he slapped his hands to his throat to stanch the bleeding. . . .

  Alyline spun toward a woman’s scream. A few feet away a woman flailed with a hammer while she grappled with a lancer who had made it halfway through the fence. He was bending her backward, leaning his own weight onto her, buckling her legs.

  The Golden Girl’s dagger took the lancer across the eyes. He screamed and let go of the woman, his hands slapped over his eyes. The woman staggered briefly then jumped forward and swung the hammer overhead with both hands onto his helmet. She recovered and delivered a crossbody blow that staggered the lancer, dented his helmet. She swung again and the helmet flew off. She beat down on his head with the hammer and his body shuddered, then sagged. She struck him again and the hammer sank into his skull. As Alyline ran to stop another Jokapcul from crossing the fence, the woman was still screaming and pummeling the pulp that had been the lancer’s skull. Then another lancer thrust his weapon deep into her side to end her screams.

  Zweepee and Doli were preparing food when the Jokapcul began their charge. Zweepee thrust a large butcher knife into Doli’s hands and snatched up a heavy cleaver. “Come on!” she commanded in a voice that sounded too big and strong to come from so small a woman. She grabbed Doli’s arm with her free hand and dragged the bigger woman along as she ran to the fence.

  When they were at the fence, Zweepee let go so she could use both hands to chop at the forearm of a Jokapcul who was spreading strands of wire so another could crawl through. The soldier’s chain mail stopped the blade, but a bone snapped inside his arm and he yelped and let go of the wire to dance away holding his injured arm.

  Doli squealed as she poked the butcher knife at the face of the man in the fence. He snarled and batted the blade away with his mailed arm. He twisted his body and stepped the rest of the way through the fence. But before he could bring his weapon to bear on the woman who was now backing away screaming, a blow to his back staggered him. Snarling, he turned to see Zweepee beginning another swing. He swung his arm up and back down to intercept the cleaver and knock it away, but Zweepee was off balance and she fell forward—he missed the cleaver and it thunked into his boot, splitting the hard leather and chopping into his foot. He roared in pain and swung the butt of his lance into Zweepee, flipping her onto her back. He reversed his hold on his lance and stepped forward to plunge it into her body but Doli leaped onto his back, forgetting the large blade she carried. He spun around off
balance and crashed into the fence with Doli between him and it. He bounced off the wire—Doli, stunned and hooked by barbs, stayed on it.

  Zweepee struggled to her knees and swiped with her cleaver but it slid across the leather instead of breaking through the joint. He bent over and grabbed her by the throat to hold her in place so he could stab his lance into her.

  Doli recovered enough to remember the butcher knife. She picked it up and jabbed it up under the rear apron of the lancer’s jerkin. He screamed and flinched away, arcing his body away from the blow and wrenching the knife from her grasp. Freed, Zweepee fell away, came back to her knees, and chopped at his foot again. The lancer fell and Zweepee chopped at his neck but the studded leather flaps blocked her blade. Then Doli grabbed the butcher knife and twisted it out, making him scream in pain again. The two women exchanged a quick glance and remembered another time they went to work with blades on a Jokapcul. They were grinning when they went back to work on the lancer.

  He screamed again.

  The Eikby Guards stood back and fired arrow after arrow into the Jokapcul climbing through the fence, but the attackers’ armor deflected most of them. Two of the guards dropped their bows in favor of swords and joined the melee. Corporal Maetog seemed to be everywhere along the fence, chopping, stabbing, slashing at the soldiers clambering through the fence until a thrust to his throat brought him down. There were simply too many Jokapcul for the few fighters and the women and children to keep out. The four remaining bowmen dropped their bows and, swords in hand, charged into a group of Jokapcul who made it through an undefended section of fence.